To Awaken Dragons
by Palmviolet
Summary: My version of Series 4. Mycroft's ploy worked, but it reawakened a dragon that has lain dormant for three years... Now he's back and it's all out war between him and the detective. SERIES 3 SPOILERS, SPOILER SUMMARY INSIDE. Established Adlock. Rated T for death, gore, swearing and mild suggestive themes. Not related to my other Sherlock fanfic 'Shudder.' Mycroft & Sherlock POV.
1. Prologue- Mycroft

**_Hi people. New year, new fanfic! There are MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR spoilers for Series 3 of Sherlock in this fic, you have been warned!_**

**_Just to clarify, italics means not with any first person POV, not a flash-back or anything_**

**_SUMMARY: Sherlock is back in the country, on a fake trail laid by his brother to prevent him being exiled. But the 'Did you miss me?' plot may have awakened the very beast himself... _**

**_Moriarty is back, and it's all out war between him and Sherlock!_**

**_PAIRINGS: Established Irene/Sherlock, Mary/John._**

_Lestrade sips his beer slowly, not paying attention to the bustling life around him. His gaze is focused on the TV screen above him, or more importantly, the football match taking place on it. He's glad to be away from the workplace. He's meant to be at the Yard now, but there are no cases and he needs a break._  
_Suddenly the TV flickers to static, and there are cries of outrage from the football fans. The waitress looks distressed and she presses a button on the side of the screen, to no avail. The screen changes, and for a moment everyone thinks it's back to normal. Wrong._  
_Moriarty's face takes up the TV, and in a distorted voice, says 'Did you miss me?' Over and over again._

_Mrs Hudson sighs and grimaces as the vacuum cord pulls tight. She glances at the TV absent-mindedly, before stopping short. _  
_"Did you miss me?" Echoes through the room. The landlady screams._

_"Did you miss me?" Molly stares at the TV in horror._

_"How is this possible?" Lady Smallwood questions, her gaze fixed upon the TV screen. _  
_"We don't know, but it's on every screen in the country- every screen simultaneously." The man standing next to her replies._  
_She turns to face him. "Has the Prime Minister been told? And Mycroft?"_

"But that's not possible," I say, thanking anything and everything for my proficient skill as a liar. I managed to pull the stunt off, thank god, due to some friends in high places who owe me some. I know I'm indulging myself with this trick, since when they can't find Moriarty they'll ship Sherlock off, permanently this time. I have no doubt that the great criminal is dead, and there's no question about it. I checked over all the records and I even saw the body with my own eyes. He's dead, and there is no coming back.  
At least, that's the truth. Not what I've led everyone to believe. Oh God, I can't believe I did that. Lying to the whole bloody nation. I've lied to the Prime Minister once, and his ministers a few times. But never the whole nation. If Mummy knew...  
No. What Mummy doesn't know can't hurt her. She'll be worried about Sherlock and me, tucked up safely in her huge country mansion. She'll be fine.  
I open the car door, morphing my face into one of horror and shock. "That is simply not possible." I state.  
John walks towards me. Poor John. He's going to be so afraid. Or maybe not... I think he's stronger than he looks. "What's happened?"

_Sherlock stares out of the window, lost in thought. An attendant says 'Sir?' jolting him out of his reverie. He glares at the attendant. "It's your brother."  
The detective takes the phone. "Mycroft?"  
"Hello little brother. How is the exile going?"  
"I've only been gone four minutes." Sherlock snaps, bitterly.  
"Well I certainly hope you've learned your lesson. As it turns out, you're needed."  
"Oh, for God's sake. Make up your mind. Who needs me this time?"  
Mycroft hesitates to reply, and if Sherlock strains his ears he can hear the faint sound of someone repeating 'Did you miss me?' over and over again, in a distorted voice.  
"England." His brother finally says, and that's all Sherlock needs. He doesn't bother to hang up before he starts laughing gleefully, like a small child surrounded by chocolate._

_"Oh, so he wants me back, does he?" Someone says, in an achingly familiar voice. "Well I'd better oblige then, if he misses me so very dearly. The world has been very booooring for the past three years, hasn't it?" Moriarty finishes._


	2. The Woman Returns- Sherlock

**Hi again. This might be quite confusing, what with all the mind palace stuff.**

"So, back to Baker Street then, Sherlock?" Mycroft says to me, smiling. I don't even look at him, I just slide into the waiting car. He glares at me and I slam the car door shut.  
The ride is spent in silence, with me deep in my mind palace. In my head, Moriarty is running riot.  
"Hahahahahahah! Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" He screams gleefully, throwing open doors and running through the corridors. I try to stop him, to get my mind palace back in order, before he opens a door that I don't want opened.  
I don't notice when Mycroft's driver stops the car. "We're here, sir." He says. I ignore the havoc within my head and nod, getting out of the car. I glance up at 221B, inwardly smiling ruefully. Last time I was here I thought it would be the last time.  
The door is slightly ajar. I frown. It could be John, but he's gone home with Mary. It can't be Mrs Hudson- she'd never leave the door open. No. Someone who would want me to know they're here, before I get in. Someone who is flamboyant enough to not consider the stupidity of the act.  
I have two options. Moriarty or Irene. I doubt that it's Moriarty, since he's going to stage a dramatic return, if I know him. He won't just turn up at Baker Street.  
"What are you doing here?!" I yell, mounting the stairs. My suspicions are confirmed when I see her, sitting tensely on the sofa, wearing my blue dressing gown.  
"Pregnant." I say automatically. There's shock on Irene's face, as well as fear.  
She nods slowly. "How did you know?" She asks quietly.  
"The uneaten biscuits, which you ate readily last time you were here. Change of taste. You've put on weight- either that or you're pregnant, and you don't seem to be the sort of person to get obese. The way you are sitting, as if you are unused to the extra weight. Suggesting it's your first child. Anxiousness on your face, the fact that you are here when you are meant to be in New York." I pause for breath. "But who's the father? You need help and advice but you wouldn't come to me, not unless..." I trail off, realising.  
"I'm sorry." Irene says awkwardly. Why is she apologising? Why does she need to? I barely remember that night. I came in late after a case to find her lying in my bed, and then...

"Enough!" Mycroft snaps in my head. "Focus."  
"What does she need?" That's Molly.  
"For God's sake, Sherlock, she needs help." John, typical John.

I return to the present. "What do you need?" I say, cursing myself for how stupid I sound.  
Irene stares at me, and for a moment I see the old smirk playing on her lips. "You're not much good, are you?" She stands up and steps close to me, her face inches from mine. "I know why you sent me to America." She whispers. "It wasn't for my protection, was it?"  
I don't say anything, I just stand there, breathing in her perfume.  
"It was because you couldn't resist." She moves back, and looks me up and down. "The temptation was too much, wasn't it?" Her eyes widen suddenly and she grins. "It still is."  
I glare at her then, and the moment is gone. "Well?" I say irritably.  
"Let's have dinner. " She smirks. "The literal sense first. We'll see about later."

We go to a nice italian for dinner. It's spent mostly in silence, with little small-talk. I don't eat much, but Irene can't seem to get enough of it. The baby, probably.

When we arrive back at the flat it's early evening. It's Irene who doubles over first, complaining of horrific cramps and a headache. At first I think she's going into labour, but then I start getting the symptoms. I curl up on the sofa and try to enter my mind palace, to distance myself from the pain. I vaguely hear Irene on the phone, through my haze of pain as I battle to reach the doors of my mind palace before they close. It's as if I'm trapped in a never-ending forest of ivy that curls up around my legs, pulling me down.  
Eventually I succumb to the ivy, and let myself be pulled down to the darkness.


	3. Bloody Hell, Sherlock-Mycroft & Sherlock

**Hi guys. This chapter is incredibly short- sorry about that. I just felt I needed to end it there. Sorry about the switching of POVs, again, it needed to be done. There's a lot of brotherly love in this chapter- I know, how hateful. But I promise there won't be too much corny stuff, as I suck at writing soppy moments.**

Mycroft

"John," I greet calmly, letting nothing betray my inner turmoil. He called me after he received a phone call from a woman claiming to be Irene Adler, saying that her and Sherlock had been poisoned and that we needed to come to Baker Street. Personally, I think it's a trap- Irene is dead. I was very thorough. But if it is a trap, then Sherlock is in trouble, so I can't just stay away, can I?  
The doctor mounts the stairs first, and I'm hesitant, wary of what we might find. When I do get up there, John is bending over Sherlock, who is a motionless figure, curled up on the sofa.  
"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me? Sherlock!" John says, his voice getting more and more urgent. He checks the younger man's pulse, and then fear shows on the doctor's face.  
"He's not breathing." He whispers.  
I hurry over to them, not bothering to hide my emotions now. "Sherlock," I say frantically, sitting on the sofa and manoeuvring my brother's head onto my lap. On the floor beyond the sofa, Irene is lying deathly still, though I can see the faint rise and fall of her chest. She doesn't seem to be in immediate danger, and so I concentrate on Sherlock, not paying any attention to John's frantic attempts to save him, just hoping and praying that he'll live.

* * *

Sherlock

I blink open my eyes, stifling the groan that tries to escape my lips. I slowly sit up, raising my hand to my forehead with a grimace.  
"Feeling better, brother dear?" The sound cuts through me like a knife, and this time I can't help the sigh of pain.  
"Not really." I mumble. "What're you doing here?"  
"Irene Adler called John. He, in turn, called me." Mycroft replies. I take in his appearance. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his usually neat shirt is rumpled under his suit jacket. Either there's stress at work, or he's worried about me. As hard as it is to believe, I think it's the latter.  
"Irene- where's she?" I slur, my voice becoming slightly stronger.  
Mycroft frowns. "She's fine, Sherlock." His voice is resigned, as if he had an argument about something and he lost. "It's you we need to worry about." He smiles weakly. "Your heart stopped."  
I shrug, feeling my strength returning.

_The doorbell rings. Mrs Hudson goes to answer it, and John emerges from his old room, where Irene is resting. A scruffy young girl enters the room, obviously part of the Homeless Network.  
"A message for Sherlock Holmes." She announces.  
"He's, er, sleeping." John says hesitantly. "I'll give him the message when he wakes up."  
The girl eyes him warily, before obviously deciding to trust him. She proceeds to give him an address and time, meaningless to the doctor.  
She then leaves, and John goes to give the message to Sherlock._

_After John's given Sherlock the message, Mycroft leaves, and John retreats to the living room, after giving the detective strict orders to rest. About half an hour later he pokes his head around Sherlock's door to check he's alright, to find the bed empty, the Belstaff missing from its hook on the door. The window is open.  
John rushes to Irene's room, praying that she at least has more sense, to find her room empty too.  
"Not again, Sherlock. Not again! Bloody hell." He mutters, before sighing and grabbing his coat, ready to head to the address that he gave Sherlock not half an hour previously._


End file.
